


Playing With Loaded Dice

by iomccoy



Series: Dice With the Universe [1]
Category: Dungeons & Dragons (Roleplaying Game)
Genre: Everybody knows that their world works by D&D mechanics, Inadvisable multiclassing, Paladin Drow is worst Drow, Problems that occur when everybody took Wisdom as a dump stat
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-19
Updated: 2016-02-19
Packaged: 2018-05-21 16:58:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,428
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6059005
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iomccoy/pseuds/iomccoy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rhia is not a PC. (Yet.) Rhia is the zero-level apprentice of a Wizard who is more interested in using her for free labor than teaching her anything. Then an impatient Paladin who overpays for healing potions gives her the chance she's waiting for. The chance to leave, start adventuring <i>now,</i> and earn her experience—and Experience—the hard way.</p><p>NPCs don't usually go adventuring. It was an accepted fact that NPCs <i>don't</i> go adventuring. Sixth level Clerics don't usually get eaten by bears, either. But something's gone a little bit <i>wrong</i> with the fundamental laws of the universe, and, well...</p><p>...isn't saving the world the most traditional quest of all?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Playing With Loaded Dice

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, Undercommon is a thing, despite this being (mostly) according to the Fifth Edition ruleset.

_"And I can't say that I'm sorry for all the things I've left undone."_  
–Seanan McGuire, _My Story Is Not Done_

 

Rhia sorted the potion-bottles below the counter, not taking her eyes off of the current browser—a Drow woman, clad in the kind of outfit only Sorcerers and Warlocks could get away with. At least it was _slightly_ more sensible than most; low-cut, yes, but at least it looked like something someone could go adventuring in without having parts of their anatomy burst free at inconvenient times. It was quite elegant, in fact—thin red-and-gold robes, patterned in black web-embroidery.

Rhia suppressed a pang of jealousy and forced herself to look down at the potions. The Drow had to be at least sixth level, was almost certainly capital-E Evil—and resenting that would do absolutely nothing for zero-level-apprentice Rhia, so it was better to just get back to work and forget about the whole thing. The stock was mostly Potions of Cure Light Wounds with a little bit of Bull's Strength thrown in; surely the Drow was looking for higher-level fare and would leave soon enough.

Alas, luck was not on Rhia's side. The Drow approached instead, and tapped a long, bony finger on the counter to get Rhia's attention. She had to look up—Rhia wasn't going to be rude to a mid-level Sorcerer, and she _certainly_ wasn't going to be rude to a customer.

The Drow was smiling, just a hint of condescension and amusement pulling the expression somewhere closer to wry. Her face was angular, nearly hollow—like a half-starved hound, leashed only by some indeterminable force. It wasn't exactly a pretty face; elegant, yes, certainly aristocratic, and there was something of beauty in the easy way she wore power—but only the most dedicated of herpetologists would call a viper "pretty," and the woman in front of Rhia was certainly a viper.

Rhia took a deep breath, face hot with fear and jealousy and less-admitted emotions, and put on her best shopkeeper-smile. "What can I do for you today?" she chirped.

The Drow said, "Healing potions," and even the thick-as-shadows Underdark accent couldn't hide the frustration in her voice. There was a silent moment, the Drow visibly toying with the idea of explanations—and, apparently deciding that Rhia was far too unimportant to be worth keeping secrets from, added, "Our party Cleric got eaten by a bear." Her tone made it _abundantly_ clear what she thought of this event, and indeed of the Cleric that it had happened to.

"Um," Rhia said, because even a perfectly respectable sixteen Intelligence couldn't make up for a more fundamental lack of eloquence. "Um," she repeated, searching for something else to say. Finally, she settled for, "I don't think our healing potions can fix that."

"Your honesty is noted," said the Drow dryly. "Sadly, despite her insufferably Lawful bent—to say nothing of her Paladinial tendencies, in attitude if not in class—we have all felt her lack. I am currently the member of my party with the most hit points left. Thirteen out of a full twenty, if you must know."

Rhia hadn't asked, but she knew better than to interrupt a monologuing caster. (Even the divine ones were prone to it on occasion, though usually with more preaching and less complaining.) She nodded agreeably. "I think I see the problem."

"Quite. Now—"

"Adena!" At the door was another Drow, well-armored in plate that bore a large variety of holy symbols. "What's taking so long?" she asked, eyes narrowing with suspicion.

The first Drow, apparently Adena, sighed heavily and rubbed at her forehead. "Buying things takes _time,_ Eyva. Go Lay on Hands or somesuch."

"I have told you, Adena—I don't _have_ any more Lay on Hands today!"

"And whose fault is _that?_ Adena snapped. "I am certainly not the one who decided, upon the unfortunate demise of our Cleric, that multiclassing into _Paladin_ was in order!" She cast her gaze upwards, as if asking the heavens for patience. "I can hardly be expected to keep track of your every class feature merely because you're fundamentally incapable of sticking to a class."

Eyva scowled and stomped up to them. "You," she said, pointing at Rhia. "We need twenty healing potions. We have a sack of gold." She dropped the aforementioned object on the counter, where it landed with a heavy _clunk._

It was really more of a purse than a sack, but it was obviously enough to to pay for the healing potions and then some. Rhia made a quick show of counting the coins, then nodded. "Coming up," she said, bending down to remove the potions she'd just been sorting.

"Good," said Eyva, tapping one armored foot against the wooden floorboards. " _Please_ be quick."

Adena just watched, elbow propped up on the table, chin resting in her hand. Rhia gave the pair of Drow another nervous glance and injected a little bit more speed into the process of transferring potions onto the counter.

_Eighteen,_ Rhia counted. _Nineteen. Twenty._ The last of the healing potions went onto the counter, neatly clearing out the store's stock of them. Eyva pushed the purse towards Rhia, who snatched it up just a hair too quickly. "Thank you for your patronage," Rhia said, flashing a nervous smile. The Sorcerer, Rhia could almost admire; something about this Paladin terrified her. She'd met a few Paladins; too often they were ruthless, relentless zealots—and those were the ones who upheld their codes. The Oathbreakers were worse.

Eyva unslung a bag from her shoulder, then set the faded, ancient thing on the counter and started scooping healing potions into it. _A Bag of Holding,_ Rhia realized belatedly. It was hardly the first one she'd seen, of course, but most of the others had been new and shiny and for sale for an _incredibly_ expensive price at some upscale magic shop or other. This one was patched, dusty, and smelled a bit like dungeon.

The potion-scooping was quickly finished, and Eyva tossed the bag back over her shoulder before she exited the shop, slamming the door behind her with a bit more force than was strictly necessary. Or particularly good for the door.

Adena shook her head, a gesture which caused a few of her carefully woven, snow-white braids to fall into her field of view. She still made the motion look elegant, which was _dreadfully_ unfair. "My sister," she said, with a vague gesture in the general direction of the door. "I'd call her barbaric, but I suppose that's what happens when one takes three levels of Barbarian." Her face took on a faint, disdainful grimace. "Sadly, I should follow her—I am loath to think of what sort of trouble she would find without me." She straightened, gave an airy, unconcerned half-wave, and followed her sister.

Rhia waited a few minutes until she was absolutely sure they were gone, still clutching the purse too tightly to her chest, then fished the shop's key out of her belt-pouch and locked the door. Her master—for all the use _he_ was—was out at the Old Library again, leaving Rhia to watch the storefront alone. She didn't mind that too much; he was a washed up Wizard full of too much petty cruelty and too little magic.

There was a wooden chair behind the counter. Rhia hated it greatly; it creaked alarmingly under anyone who weighed more than a particularly skinny Elf—and that brought images of Adena to her mind, unbidden, for the Drow certainly qualified. _She'd sneer at the thought,_ Rhia decided. That settled, and Rhia having no other options, she plopped herself down in the chair. As predicted, it squeaked in complaint.

"Quiet, you," Rhia told it. Reluctantly, she set the purse on the counter. _I could pour it all out. Stick it in the strongbox, like normal. Wait for my supposed mentor to come back, and maybe I'll finally reach first level by the time he dies of old age..._

Instead, Rhia carefully counted out enough gold to pay for the Potions of Cure Light Wounds, hauled the strongbox up onto the counter, and poured in the _proper_ price. Then she slid the purse's strap over one arm, her hand tightening on it involuntarily.

Three potions went onto her belt—two Bull's Strength, and one Cure Light Wounds that she'd somehow missed. Then an Alchemist's Fire joined them. Another Alchemist's Fire. Rhia drew a finger across the five glass vials, took a deep breath, and walked out into the night.


End file.
